❝Oh, Oakley. . . What have you done?❞
Well, they say it's best to start at the beginning, but when the story gets so twisted and out of hand, who really knows where the beginning starts?
The Outer Banks is not the paradise Earth talks about. It's n...
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THE SOUND OF BURNING WOOD greets her ears in a melancholic breeze, followed by the strong aroma of the blazing trunk as JJ finishes impregnating the words onto it. Oakley's eyes are glossy, her hair being blown back by the violent wind gusts. The Château is quiet against the contradictory roaring of the waves, and between the four Pogues, the same quietness accompanies them in their grieving states. The blonde girl fiddles with her rings, trying to contain her sorrow even when it feels like she might explode and fall back the steps she'd taken all over again.
2003-2020 John B Routledge. P4L
The four stand in front of the tree, the words burnt onto a heart-shaped cut out of the trunk. JJ's hand slithers around Oakley's waist lovingly and the girl allows his embrace to send peace into her body. Seagulls sing above them, joining them in their silence. After what feels like eternity, JJ raises his hip flask in the air.
"To John B," he cheers sadly.
"And to Sarah," Oakley adds, looking up at him as he offers a faint smile and nods.
The four glossy-eyed teens agree in their remembrance and turn back to the humble memorial in front of them. Pope drinks from his beer and JJ takes a swing of his drink which Oakley carries on to down when he hands it to her. Kiara holds the box of John B's belongings, unable to let go of his characteristic leather bracelet, or to look away from his colorful bandanas and cloth necklaces.
But after a while of just staring, the girl finally gets the courage to lean down and place the box in the small hole they'd dug. Being unable to bury their best friend, they had collectively agreed that his death wouldn't go unattended. So, while the island bows to the fall of Sheriff Peterkin, the Pogues use the serenity to honor their fallen friends in the place they all call their home— The Château.
'Here's a fun fact.'
The four crouch down next to the box and Oakley places a small bunch of white flowers on top of it. She purses her lips staring down at it as a rebellious tear slides down her cheek and meets the soil. She closes her eyes and lets the zephyr carry away her sorrow, but as harsh as the wind is and as loud as the ocean howls, no natural phenomenon could take away the void that is now in their hearts.
'You ready? Here we go,'
The four proceed to bury the box, covering it with soil and dirt and standing up again. JJ's clear eyes stay focused on the last bits they have left of John B, and as Oakley's hand meets his, he places a kiss on her head and sighs.
'Everyone you know. . . is gonna die,'
The four Pogues spend that grieving night together. In the familiarity of their second home, in the comfort of each other's presence. At sunset they sit by the beach and at dusk they lay together under the stars. Not many words are exchanged in their companionship, but no words are needed when they have the certainty that they have each other. That's all that matters.
